“I still can’t believe you dyed your hair,” Jackie says, touching a strand of my hair as we drive to the restaurant where I’ll go on my first public date. It looks seamless, just like my old hair, and the hairdresser who styled it this afternoon agreed it was a good-quality piece.
So good, that Jackie didn’t realize I was wearing a wig until we came back to my place to chat and go over my calendar for the next month after the meeting with Chris Klein. As expected, the actor was a complete gentleman, charming and kind, complimenting me and accepting the basic terms we always lay out for each relationship before the first appearance: boundaries I hold, such as no extreme PDA, and the contractual rules, like no external relationships for the next six months. I made sure not to look at Leo when that was spoken; instead, I doodled on paper, a couple of words and lines for another song that’s been swirling in my mind.
The meeting ended, and then Leo stayed in the building while I left with Jackie, making sure to follow my usual routine before stepping out this time and leaving without a panic attack.
I still felt like I was leaving half of my heart behind when I stepped out of the doors, though.
“I’ve got something on the calendar for tomorrow to fix it,” Jackie continues, scrolling on her phone.
“No,” I say firmly.
“No?” Jackie asks, lifting her eyes to look at me, confused, a hint of shock on her face. I’ve seen that expression more today than I have in the entire time I’ve worked with her, and I’m sure it’s because I’ve never been one to argue with what she’s saying.
But I’m not the same girl I was three months ago, and even more, I don’twant to be heranymore.
“I’m not dyeing it,” I clarify firmly. Jackie stares at me in horror. “It’s not healthy for your hair to be that light, and honestly, it washes me out. I don’t like it. I like my new color.” Despite my confidence, a hint of nervousness settles in my gut. “I’m going to wear a wig when I’m on.”
“You can’t wear a wig all the time, Willa. What are you, Hannah Montana?”
I smile at her words, though she clearly isn’t amused.
“It’s fine, Jackie. I already wear contacts. What’s some fake hair, too?”
She stares at me, then must realize it isn’t worth the argument because she sighs and shakes her head.
“We’ll revisit in two weeks. Putting on a wig every day is going to get annoying,” she says, but I shrug, knowing I’d rather maintain a level of anonymity outside my career. The wigs are just another small way I’ll be able to have it all.
My phone vibrates in my hand, and when I look at the screen, it’s a text from Leo, a reply to the photo I sent him this afternoon while getting ready. It was before I put on the boring black dress Jackie picked out for me, and my arm was covering my breasts.
Miss you already,I had said. It seems he only just saw it, or at least only now found the time to respond.
Fuck, honey.
You can’t do this to me, not if you don’t want me to crash your date.
It makes a smile spread across my lips, even though we both know he wouldn’t crash the date. It’s a fun image of him throwing me over his shoulder as he did at the Mill and claiming me in front of everyone.
“What are you smiling about?” she asks, giving me a skeptical look, and I fight not to let the blush burn across my cheeks.
“One of my friends from Holly Ridge just texted me,” I say, deciding the fewer details the better. Leoisone of my friends from Holly Ridge, after all, so it’s not a total lie.
181 days left.
Counting down every single one.
Me too
After I send that, I check my other messages and see I’ve been added to a group chat with Nat, Wren, and Hallie, and another smile comes to my face as I watch them go back and forth. Hallie sent a paparazzi pic of me from this morning, from me leaving, thankfully.
Hallie
I am so borrowing this dress, Willa.
Wren
You look so pretty! I hope you have a great time today!
Nat
